Poppies
by daughterbringsthewater
Summary: Leona has been watching the boy come to the graveyard for a long time, ever since the death of his mother. One summer evening, they speak. Post Season 3. Rating has increased to M due to future circumstances.
1. Graveyard Fireflies

He kept coming to this spot in the graveyard.

The first time Leona had seen him was seven years ago, or was it eight? Six?

The first time she had seen him, he had been crying. So young and already so grief stricken at the tender age of what she guessed to be 10. He sat in front of the grave alone at night and wept, his face buried in his hands as his knees grew dirty from the freshness turned dirt. She'd kept silently to the side, watching him from a distance atop a mausoleum. The wind whipped and promised rain, but the boy was collected by his father before the downpour began.

The next time had been softer, perhaps less painful for him. He was in control of his grief, but the lines were still painted on his face. He was older now, 13, but his position was the same. He still sat in front of the grave and talked to the night air, burrowed in a hoodie that wasn't warm enough for the season. She could see him shiver. He brought flowers that time, a slightly wilted bouquet of lilacs and what looked like handpicked clovers. He seemed more prepared, like he had planned this visit.

He'd sat and talked for awhile. She'd heard snatches of what he'd said – a girl he liked named Lydia still didn't notice him, his father was so tired lately working on a case. He missed her.

He always said he missed her and the words bled a kind of pain that was hard to express.

He came a few more times over the next couple of years, but eventually the night visits dropped off entirely.

Leona didn't see him for a long time, several years. She almost expected him to have forgotten about this grave, the grave of Claudia Stilinski – Beloved Mother, Loving Wife. Sometimes Leona left flowers if it seemed like the boy hadn't been there in a long time. She freshened up the bouquets with bright red poppies, cleared away the debris. She wasn't sure why, but after seeing that boy grow and sharing in his pain, she felt it was the respectful thing to do.

On one balmy summer evening when the fireflies were out in force, Leona exited her small home; the one bordering the graveyard that everyone assumed was abandoned. Held gently between her fingers was _Dracula_ which she enjoyed reading, if only for a laugh or two. It had been her intention to sit atop the Howard family mausoleum and burrow herself in Bram Stoker's engaging prose, but as she turned around an angel statue, she was stopped in her tracks.

The boy was back.

He was taller now, lanky in a good way, with messy dark hair. Even in the deep dark, she could perceive his face. He had a nice sharp nose and deep dark brown eyes, a strong jaw and cheekbones she would love to kiss. There were deep dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't been sleeping. The crying boy had grown into a handsome man. His hands were in his pockets and he was standing, staring down at the headstone as if unsure what to do. Leona found it strange – the expression and passion, the grief, the joy; they had come so easily to him before. She wondered what had changed.

She drew a little closer, taking refuge behind some unmaintained statuary.

The boy sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, breathing into the night air. He had no flowers today. He was still, and Leona felt that something was terribly wrong. If memory served, he was always moving. Always drumming his fingers, brushing back his hair, fidgeting.

But he was so still. So quiet. So unlike what she remembered.

He shifted from foot to foot for a moment, then sighed again and turned to walk away. However, his eyes must have grown sharper as he had aged, for he spotted her there, leaning gently against an angel. He saw a small, curvaceous girl in a long sleeveless dark blue dress with long curls of brown hair framing a heart shaped face. A pair of stormy blue eyes were watching him unabashedly. He stopped, opening his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again as Leona stepped forwards, bare toes wiggling in the grass.

He said nothing as she drew near him and only turned as she passed him, stepping up to the headstone he had just been staring at. They were both silent as Leona reached out a small hand and brushed some leaves from the top of the stone.

"You didn't bring flowers this time."

The boy started at the sudden sound of her gentle voice, barely piercing the thick summer air. He blinked and stammered.

"N-no. There wasn't anything open around- wait. What do you mean this time?" He drew near her, standing by the headstone. Leona could smell the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, could hear his heart beating in a steady metronome.

"I've seen you out here before. You usually bring lilacs."

Stiles Stilinski looked at her strangely, furrowing his brow. To all appearances, this girl was his age. She had kind of an old beauty about her, like you'd seen on an actress from the 1930's, and she was strange in a way he couldn't place. He'd certainly never seen her around school before. He thought he'd remember.

Clearing his throat, he extended his hand to her. Leona looked at it, and then slipped her own into his. His hand was so warm – in contrast, hers was chilly.

"I'm Stiles."

A small smile appeared on her mouth, only the quirking of the corner of her lips, but it was warm in a way Stiles didn't expect.

"Leona. Did she like lilacs?"

Stiles nodded a couple times. "Yeah. They were, uh, one of her favorites. She always said roses were cliché."

Leona let out a low humming noise in her throat, then set the much-loved and dog eared copy of Dracula down on the headstone. She drew away from him, stepped through the green grass to a patch of flowers. Her gentle hands plucked a bundle of poppies and she stepped over to the grave, setting them down by the headstone.

"Poppies are nice. They mean remembrance. Consolation." She handed one to him, which he took and pinched between a couple of fingers. The strange thoughtful expression was back on his face.

"Are you the one that kept leaving them?" He asked with wrinkled brow. Leona nodded slowly.

"I am. It felt respectful."

"Why not any of the other graves?" Stiles asked, gesturing around at the stony forest. Leona gave him a gentle shrug of her shoulders.

"I have no reason to care about any of the others." A faintly exasperated expression crossed his face, causing her to bite down a smile.

"Why do you care about hers?" He asked, pointing at Claudia's grave. Leona considered this, and then shrugged again. She didn't know why.

"I just felt right. I saw you crying the first time I saw you, and I felt…moved."

Stiles gaped at her just a little bit. "Wait. How long have you been watching me?" He looked torn between being unsettled and being pleased. Leona smiled.

"Since the first night. You were found by a tall man with sandy hair and blue eyes. Your father?"

Stiles nodded slowly, looking down at his sneakers, then to her bare feet. "That was-ah. That was the day of her funeral."

"You were grief stricken. You needed to see her again. I understand."

He looked up and peered at her. "You do?"

Leona managed a small, sad smile. "I've lost people I love too, Stiles. But I am sorry to see that grief in someone else. Perhaps I felt empathetic for the poor ten year old boy I saw all alone in a graveyard at night. I felt sorry to see someone else bleed like I have."

He didn't smile, but he seemed to relax, dropping down in front of the headstone and sitting cross legged. He looked up at her and patted his hand once to the grass beside him. After a moment, Leona floated over and alighted next to him, barely making a sound. They said nothing for awhile, sitting in companionable silence. She memorized anew all the little cracks and pockmarks in the stone – Beloved Mother, Loving Wife.

"Do you live around here? I don't think I've seen you." He asked after awhile. Leona turned her head and nodded at him.

"I do. There's a house near the graveyard."

He furrowed his brow, craning his neck to look around thoughtfully.

"Wait, that old one at the edge of the preserve? That thing is abandoned, isn't it?"

Leona laughed softly and shook her head. "I imagine not, considering I live there."

"Huh."

They lapsed into silence again, but this time, she studied his face. He was handsome and youthful, probably only seventeen now, but there was an aged quality to his eyes, the set of his mouth. She didn't see this in young people very much, so many of them so concerned with little things that were in the grand scheme so utterly unimportant. There was a shadow to his dark deep eyes and she wondered what had put it there. Thoughtfully, she reached up and brushed a thumb beneath his left eye over one of the purple circles. He looked startled, but managed not to jump. He didn't push her hand away.

"What are you doing?"

"You don't get enough sleep, do you? Something weighs heavily on your mind and it keeps you awake at night."

The uncomfortable looked on his face disappeared, replaced with inquisitiveness. He let her cup his cheek in one of her cold hands as she looked into his eyes with her own steely stormy ones. Slowly, Stiles let out a small nod. The tightness in his shoulders dropped, his body slumped, revealing a steely spine that had grown too tired to hold itself up around an odd beautiful stranger. He sighed deeply and set his forehead in a hand, his elbow on a knee. Leona said nothing, didn't ask him questions, and didn't press. She simply sat and understood and listened to the soft thump of his heartbeat, the music of his breath. She could feel the warmth of his skin and the warmth of the summer and they seemed as one to her own cold still frame.

The silence was broken by a soft jingle coming from his pocket. Stiles straightened, and Leona watched as he straightened his spine again and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hey Scott, what's up?"

Leona could hear a boy's voice on the other line, but she couldn't make it out. Stiles nodded, looking tired.

"Sure. I'll be there soon." He hung up and pocketed the phone, standing. Leona stood with him, collecting her copy of Dracula. Stiles gave her a long look, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I'll see you around?" He asked, stepping backwards, unwilling to take his eyes from his odd, odd woman. Leona smiled softly and gestured grandly at the graveyard.

"You know where to find me. Perhaps one evening you will tell me what strangles the boy I used to see."

She turned on a heel and walked away, making little noise in the grass. Stiles stayed for a moment, watching her retreat, then turned too, his sneakers cracking over little rocks and twigs. The fireflies twinkled like little stars.

The poppies on the grave were already wilting.


	2. Pierce

**Wow! Thanks so much for all the favorites and follows. I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy the next part!**

* * *

_It was a white crane, it was a helpless thing. Upon a red stain, with an arrow in its wing._

_And it called and cried. And it called and cried so._

_The Crane Wife 1 & 2 by The Decemberists_

Leona was barely able to keep her eyes upon the much-feasted upon works of Bram Stoker. From her perch atop the tomb she scanned the graveyard occasionally before returning her eyes to her book. Eventually she realized she was reading the same section over and over again – _"__Let me be accurate in everything, for though you and I have seen some strange things together, you may at the first think that I, Van Helsing, am mad. That the many horrors and the so long strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain."_

She put the book down on her lap and sighed into the warm summer air. It was humid today, thick and hot and syrupy. She did not sweat, but she could faintly smell it in the air, could faintly see the shape of someone walking into the graveyard. Stiles. He was sweating, and carrying a small bunch of purple lilacs in his right fist.

Smiling, she alighted from the roof with ease, landing with a soft thump. The dress she wore fluttered around her knees as she walked, swaying through the graveyard and to where she had been so blessed with conversation as few evenings ago.

He was standing, waiting for her. He looked wary and maybe ever so softly confused, as if he wasn't sure why he was here. She could see his spine was back in place, holding up the center of his body and soul.

"Stiles." She announced her presence with his name, voicing the word with a gentle sort of care. He looked up and smiled in response. It was small, and awkward.

"I'm happy you came."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I was thinking about what you said, about flowers, so I, ah." He gestured with the lilacs and set them at the foot of his mother's grave.

"She has a garden now."

He smiled slightly, as if the thought made him happy, and then cleared his throat, coming over to her. He stopped a few feet away, looking down into her eyes. She met his with ease.

"I was out with my friend Scott and I thought about you."

Leona raised a single eyebrow. "Did you?"

Stiles shucked his chin and blushed slightly. "That probably sounded creepy. I meant, I was out with my friend and I…thought about you."

The girl tipped her head inquisitively, sending a cascade of dark curls to her left side. She smiled.

"You haven't said anything different, Stiles."  
"I mean, I guess I was _wondering_ about you. I don't see you around like, ever. Do you…go to school around here?" He asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Leona gave him an odd and soft little smile.

"No, I do not."

"The prep school, then?"

"I don't go to school."

"Oh." He furrowed his brow contemplatively, trying to piece together bits of their conversation. She could see the wheels in his head turning.

"Home school?"

Leona shook her head, smiling. "I have been done with school for a very long time."

Stiles lifted his head in understanding, bobbing on his tiptoes. "Oh. You're older?"

"I look good for my age, don't I?"

He made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like agreement, then blushed again as she smiled, her lips pressing together in amusement.

"That ah, probably sounded weird."

"No, I'm flattered."

"Sooo…how old _are_ you?"

Leona laughed, reaching forwards to pat his cheek gently. He noticed how cold her hand was.

"A lady never tells, Stiles."

He bobbed his head again, looking awkward, as if he didn't know how to continue. Leona gracefully intervened.

"How is your friend?"

"Oh Scott? He's…alright."

Leona tilted her head again, before dropping to the ground. Her dress spread around her in a soft blue green puddle. Without being bid, Stiles thumped down next to her with decidedly less grace.

"Only alright?"

Stiles looked down at his hands once he had extricated them from his pockets. He said nothing for a time, and she did not press.

"We lost a friend pretty recently, Allison. She and Scott were…well, they weren't an item anymore, but…" He spread his hands in the air.

"They still loved each other."

He nodded at her, and Leona dipped her chin, looking at him with sympathy. Or was it empathy? She'd said something about knowing his pain last night, Stiles reflected.

"Is she buried here, your friend?"

He nodded again. Leona stood and plucked another small handful of red poppies from the nearby patch, then gestured to him.

"Perhaps we should give her a token of remembrance as well."

Stiles gave her a long look, then stood, walking over to her.

"Why do you care? Not trying to be rude or anything but you don't even know us."

Leona looked at the red flowers in her hand. She ran a thumb over them, feeling the silky texture against her skin. She could feel every bend and dip.

"You care. And that makes me interested."

He looked confused. "Why? Why would you possibly give a crap what I feel?" His voice was sharp and agitated and perhaps a little cracked. Leona drew near again to him with a whisper of cloth. She could hear the staccato of his heart. She could see every line on his face, already so careworn, so sad. Leona lifted up upon her tiptoes and ghosted her lips over one of his cheekbones. It was barely a featherlight touch, but his heart skipped a couple beats.

She drew back, and took his hand in her own, curling the fingers together. He didn't stop her, only looked confused and dumbfounded.

"Show me where Allison is?"

He nodded slowly, shaking himself. Together, they cut a path in the muggy night air, wending their way to a large headstone, topped with a delicate stone angel. It read _Allison Argent_ – _Beloved daughter, treasured friend. We will all miss you._

Gently pulling her hand from Stiles', she placed the poppies at the base of the headstone, fluffing up the petals with soft care. A slight breeze rippled through the boneyard, making the little red petals dance. Leona ran her hand over the headstone.

"I wished I could have met you, Ms. Argent."

They stood in silence. Leona listened to his heart and the wind and the faint rumble of passing cars.

"Did you want to...go do something? I mean, I know you're probably…busy, but…" He trailed off as she turned her head and looked at him.

"I just feel weird coming here and talking to you and I don't even know you." He explained, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. His sneakers creaked.

She was a long time in answering, considering. She could not go out and do things that normal teenagers did, confined so by her being, by what she was. No food, no drink. Not even any pictures. She wanted to join him, wanted to meet the friends he would tell his mother about. She wanted to go out amongst them and pretend normalcy.

But she couldn't.

Slowly, Leona shook her head. Stiles deflated ever so slightly, and it wrenched a place in her gut she didn't know she had.

Before she knew it, she was blurting out some words, just so he wouldn't look put out. "Perhaps another time, Stiles?"

Stiles nodded. "Tomorrow?"

Before she could stop herself, she nodded in agreement and was rewarding with a blindingly brilliant smile. It was small and quiet, but it was true. She wanted to see it on his face again. She wanted to see it on his face forever.

"Alright. I'll be here tomorrow night. We'll do...something!" He waved his hands in the air, then pointed at the book she had tucked under her arm.

"We could watch monster movies. I've never actually seen Dracula."

"Neither have I."

Stiles grinned, showing part of his set of nice teeth. "Cool. I'll see you around."

She watched him go, his hands in his pockets. Truthfully, she was a little afraid. When she had watched him from afar, it had been safe. It had been quiet and safe and she had been unknown. But now he knew her. He knew her name, and she knew his. He knew she existed, that she had been watching in the dark, seeing parts of his life he probably didn't want a stranger to see.

But he hadn't rebuked her. Stiles hadn't turned her away. What did that mean?

Perhaps he just needed a friend. Leona knew she did, having no one in this life that amounted to much. She knew others of her own kind, but they were not kindred. In him, she saw something akin to her own starved heart. She wondered that if she stepped away from the small world that she had here amongst the bones and ghosts, would she be safe? Would _he?_

As she wound her way back to her small, broken down shell of a home, she clutched her novel and wondered how Stiles Stilinski had managed to so easily beguile a woman of monstrous immortal blood.


	3. Flood

**Thanks for the kind feedback, I really appreciate it! I hope this next installment lives up to your expectations. Enjoy!**

_If I was not myself_

_And you were someone else_

_I'd say so much to you_

_And I would tell the truth_

_Dead in the Water – Ellie Goulding_

* * *

Leona stood under a tree at the front gate, listening to the sound of the rain, and waiting. The humidity had finally broken about twenty minutes ago into a rainstorm that poured down in sheets from the sky. The rain didn't bother her – she didn't get cold or sick – but she wondered if Stiles would even bother to brave the deluge for her sake. She doubted it, but some small part of her clung to hope that a mortal boy would still seek her company.

Her dress hung heavily around her body, soft lemon yellow satin no longer fluttery and light. Her black heels were sinking into the dirt that grew muddier and muddier with each rain drop that filtered through the canopy. She counted herself lucky to not be wearing makeup, for it would likely be running in dark streaks down her face by now.

She waited a few more minutes. Leona heard nothing but the rain and the water was spoiling her sense of smell. But no cars drove by, no one walked up. She sighed softly, something inside herself shattering as she turned and pushed open the gate again. It creaked open with a rusty squeak. She steeled herself and stepped out into the rain.

"Hey! Leona!"

Her head snapped up as Stiles came running up, tucked into a hoodie. He was soaked through and had a bag wrapped in plastic under his arm. He stepped under the tree with her and shivered.

"Sorry I'm late! The jeep had to go to the shop and then it started to rain while I was walking over here and I had to get a plastic bag for this thing and-"

She silenced him with a kiss, so unutterably touched that she leaned in and pecked him very softly on his cheekbone. Stiles stopped and gaped, his jaw flapping for a moment like that was entirely not what he was expecting. Leona smiled and took his hand.

"C'mon. I have somewhere we can go."

They braved the rain in the grave yard together – Leona lost a shoe on the way – but eventually she was pushing past the far gate and the trees in the dark forest, to come upon her rundown little home in the woods. Out of her pocket she plucked a key – she'd installed a lock on the door when she had moved it – and unlocked the door, pushing it open. It was black as pitch inside, but Stiles allowed her to lead him in anyway.

"Hold on a minute, alright?" She could see him nod, her eyes adjusting for the pitch blackness. His heart was beating a little faster, but that seemed more from the run over than the oddity of his current situation. He was relaxed around her, a fact that both made her happy and made her sad. If he only knew, he would run far and fast.

There was a sudden flash of flame as Leona lit a candle, holding it by the small metal base.

"Here." She handed it to Stiles, beckoning him over to the fireplace. She spent a few moments piling wood and kindling in the blackened belly of the fireplace, lighting it with a match and sending light and warmth through the room. As Leona lit more candles, Stiles wandered, looking over her gloomy little home. It was ill lit. Books sat on every surface, along with plain white candles. There was a large rug and many pillows on the floor, but no furniture to sit upon. As he drew closer to the walls he could see paintings, worn with time. Thick velvet draperies covered every window, which were also shuttered from the outside. The whole place smelled like age.

"Is that you?" He asked, gesturing above the mantle. There was an old painting of what looked like Leona and a strikingly handsome man hung there who looked to be in his late twenties and looked nothing like her – probably not her father. It looked really old and it was slightly peeling.

Leona smiled and plucked the candle from Stiles' hand, blowing it out with an expression of breath.

"Yes. It is. Talented painter, don't you think?" Her stormy eyes looked like waves were crashing on a beach with the flaming licks of the fire. Stiles nodded slowly, caught in the balance of them for a moment before she turned away.

"I think I may have some clothing that will fit you if you want to hang those above the fire to dry. I'll go look." She smiled at him and made her way up the set of stairs that were probably quite grand in their day.

He watched her go before making his way over to the fireplace, trying to not drip on the pillows. It cast strange shadows around the room, but it was warm and cozy enough here. He warmed his hands, shivering. After a moment's deliberate, Stiles removed his hoodie, shoes and socks. He left the shoes by the fire, but he hung his hoodie and socks up on the string that he assumed was for this very purpose.

But something caught his eye. In the very corned of the painting there was something written. He glanced up at the stairs before removing his cellphone and switching it on, casting blueish light over the corner.

_Leona MacKenzie and Jean-Claude Salles, 1850._

He blinked, not comprehending. 1850?

What did that even _mean_?

"Stiles?"

Stiles jumped, flipping his cellphone off and looking up to the stairs. Leona had a bundle of clothing in her arms and had changed. She was in this dark little tight dress that had his heart skipping a few beats. She made her way down the stairs on bare feet and handed him the bundle.

"Here. See if these fit."

He took them mechanically, staring at her. Leona could hear his breathing catching a little. She could even see the wheels turning in his head. What conclusion had he drawn from the edge of the painting, she wondered. Something that would make him seem mad if he brought it up, most likely. She could try to play it off as a quirk of the artist, but either way, their friendship would likely end tonight. He was bright and strange – he would draw the correct conclusion soon enough.

For the time being, she could at least enjoy this last evening with him.

"Stiles?"

His name seemed to knock him out of his reverie and he smiled, a little self conscious.

"Thanks."

There was a moment where they stared at each other before Leona laughed, spinning on her heel to turn away from him. As she heard the sounds of buttons being popped and a zipper being tugged, she wondered what he looked like beneath all those clothes. She wanted to find out, a desire that hit her with a strange and sudden desperation, but she clamped down on it. It would be startlingly easy for her to soften his opinion of her so much so that he felt comfortable, but that was something she would _never_ do to anyone. Others of her kind who could were in the practice of it, she knew, but the idea appalled her. She treasured Stiles' company, and would never do anything to harm him like that.

"They, ah. They fit pretty good. Kinda big."

She took this as an okay to turn around and was present with the sight of Stiles in a pair of Jean-Claude's old suit pants and a button up shirt. They _were_ a little large on him – Jean-Claude had been taller and broader shouldered, but at least they weren't soaked through. She hung up Stiles' other articles of clothing, then alighted on the pillow and blanket covered rug in front of the fire. He followed suit, wiggling in to get comfortable.

"Okay. Let's see if this thing still works."

She watched him pull a black rectangle from the plastic bag, which she belatedly recognized as a laptop as he opened it up and started clicking buttons. She watched him select things on the screen, before settling down and pressing his back to the wall. The movie began to play, a black and white masterpiece. She sat with him for a while, craning her neck, unsure whether or not she should be close enough to touch him. However, he answered that question for her.

"Sorry, you can't really see, can you?" She shook her head.

"Ahh…hang on!" He paused the movie and moved up next to her so they were hip to hip, then tugged a blanket over their legs and propped half the computer on her lap. A smile and a click of the button started the movie again, but Leona was finding it hard to focus. She could smell him so well now – sweat, breath, a hint of cologne, and his blood. She could hear and smell his blood coursing through his veins, pumping and powering his heart which was tapping just a little faster than normal. It was intoxicating. He smelled so sweet and so utterly alive. His heart was thudding away so quickly…

"Um, Leona?"

She blinked, knocked out of her trancelike state. She realized that her face was buried in his neck and her two weapons had sprouted. She clapped a hand to her mouth and yanked back, eyes wide.

"I'm so sorry, Stiles." Leona stood rapidly, stumbling away upstairs. Stiles watched her for a moment, confused, before leaping to his feet and following after. She was very fast, up the stairs and down the hall into her bedroom before he had even taken his the first stair.

"Leona?" He stood in the hall, barely able to see. There were a few doors in here, but the one at the end of the hall looked the most used. The others were all covered over in dust and cobwebs.

"Go away, Stiles."

He made his way up to the door and hesitated before knocking. He wasn't entirely sure what do to.

"What's wrong?" He felt strange talking to a door. For a long time, there wasn't any response.

"Nothing. I'm fine. But you should leave now." Leona heard him huff a little bit and sigh from the other side of the door.

"I'm sorry if I like, did something or…something." He attempted, ruffling his hair in confusion. He'd had girls rebuke him before, girls laugh at him, girls hit him and kiss him before. He'd never had a girl seem so uncomfortable touching him, then suddenly lean into his neck and start kissing it in a way that had his heart jumping all over the place before, then just as suddenly run away. He didn't know what to make of her.

"You didn't do anything, Stiles. It's me."

"You know you can't use the _It's not you, it's me_ thing, right? Since we're not going out or anything." He heard a light flutter of laughter for a split second, relaxing him.

"Let's just go finish the movie, okay? You don't have to tell me anything."

There was another period of long silence before the door slowly creaked open. Inside was completely pitch black and he wondered how she could have navigated. Slowly, she let out a nod.

"Alright."

Things were a little bit tense after that, with Stiles glancing at her every so often like she might go off again, and Leona doing her best not to breathe or listen to his heart and breath. She did her best to get lost in the movie but as riveting as Bela Lugosi's performance was, her heart wasn't in it.

What was it about this mortal boy that entranced her so? Leona had walked this world for over two hundred years. She'd had her score of beguiled mortals, scores of lovers, nights of wild revelry a mortal mind could scare comprehend or even want to imagine. When Jean-Claude had been killed she had retired here in Beacon Hills and led a quiet existence – though that certainly didn't mean she had been entirely alone. It had only been since that very first night upon seeing the crying boy that something inside her had changed. He captured her attention.

At first, she wanted to console the little boy and the young teenager, wanted to share in his pain. As he grew older and as she saw him now as a man, she wanted more. She still wanted to console him and give him her sympathy and empathy, but she wanted to not just console him with her words, but her mind and flesh and heart.

The desire had only increased upon getting to know him and talk to him. She found his mind enticing, his words delightful, and the siren call of his body even more compelling. What was _wrong_ with her?

_Oh._

Oh no.

"Wow, that was awesome! I mean, holy crap. _The spider spinning his web for the unwary fly._"

Stiles' voice brought her back to the present. The firelight was casting a glow on his face and – _no, Leona. _She did her best to smile as she leaned in, adopting her best Dracula smile.

"_The blood is the life, Mr. Stilinski._"

He laughed, tugging on the collar of his shirt, dramatically nervous.

"That was pretty good, actually. I feel myself falling for your undead charms."

She stood and curtseyed with a flourish, causing Stiles to stand and bow with an equal amount of drama. Leona giggled, pressing her hand to her mouth.

"I think the rain has stopped, Stiles."

"Oh. Yeah, I think you're right." He walked over to the front door and looked out. Everything was still dripping in the gloom, but there was no longer Noah's Flood pouring from the sky. He went over to the fireplace and grabbed his clothing, touching the fabric experimentally.

"My jeans are still wet."

"You can keep the pants you're wearing. I don't need them."

He nodded to her, plucking some things off the clothesline. The mood of the room suddenly shifted as she watched him, drawing near enough to see his face in exact detail. She spent time memorizing his freckles, the little pits of his skin, the deep flickering amber of his eyes. She imagined this would be the last time she would see it. Leona couldn't blame him for never wanting to come back – the evening had been odd, her home was odd, her very existence was odd. It wouldn't be hard for him to find someone else who understood pain in this world, someone he could open his mind and heart to. It couldn't be her. Someone who had so much kindness in them deserved to walk with the sun, not the moon.

"Stiles, I-"

"Do you have a-"

They both smiled and Leona shut her mouth, gesturing to him. He chuckled and ruffled his mop of dark hair. She wanted to twine her fingers in it.

"Do you have a phone?"

She blinked, tipping her head.

"No. Why?"

"I don't know how to get in touch with you."

"Why would you want to get in touch with me again?" She drew nearer to him, confused. She looked up into his eyes and saw a strange glow of warmth.

"Cause I want to hang out again? I mean, if you don't want to, that's cool but-"

"No." She placed her hand on his chest, stopping him. Her clockwork lashes fluttered as she smiled up at him.

"I'd like that. I didn't think you'd want to after all the strangeness I've put you through." Stiles tipped his head and grinned a little, shrugging.

"Man, whatever. My life is already weird."

She smiled at him, shaking her head.

"You are a very rare person, Stiles."

Something in his face softened, the grinned becoming a tiny warm smile.

"Thanks."

Leona's fingers curled into his shirt, grasping some of the fabric. After a moment, his hand covered hers. Their fingers twined. His hand was so warm compared to hers, so alive and bright. She couldn't look at him, her eyes downcast. His heartbeat was so loud it almost felt like it was her own dancing staccato. His hand slipped off of hers after a long moment.

"I should get going. You wanna do this again?"

She looked up, smiling.

"Sure. We could do something else, if you like. Whatever you like."

He bobbed his head, thinking. "I'll come up with something. Tomorrow night?" he asked as she showed him to the door.

"Yes. I do not have any plans."

He lingered on her doorstep for a moment, looking at her with a funny expression. His eyes danced over the house, over her. She leaned into the doorframe and tipped her head at him inquisitively.

"What?"

"Huh? Oh. Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow?"

They shared smiles and nods and she watched him leave, pulling out his cellphone to illuminate the path. She listened to his footsteps tromp through the wet leaves and the mud until it faded into nothing, just the sounds of the forest. When she could no longer hear him, she shut the door and locked it, tumbling into the nest of pillows and blankets. His smell was all over them and she burrowed into it, wrapping the blanket around her body and feeling for a moment like the loneliness she hadn't noticed was crushing her had lifted.

She knew the problem. This was something she had felt before, though perhaps not to this strange degree.

_She loved him._

Leona loved him like you could only love someone you didn't know very well. She saw his pain and wanted to alleviate it. She saw his smile and wanted to cause it. She admired his form and wanted it, she wanted to accept him inside herself and kiss him and never let go. She wanted to sink her teeth into him and possess him and whisk him away to somewhere he would never remember was being in pain and being sad was like. She knew that she would bleed for him if she had to, bleed in bright red strips until she was an empty and wild monster, gnashing her teeth. Her love, or was it just infatuation, was wild and rampant.

And it had to stop.

Leona had felt this before. She had been in love before.

And she had seen what had happened to others of her kind who were foolish enough to fall in love, and what happened to the mortals they fell in love with.

Her affection would destroy him. It would have his lungs and heart ripped out and presented as an example. It would get him killed, or worse.

It would make him like _her._

Leona wrapped herself up in the blanket that bore his scent and walked upstairs, feeling something inside her hardening and shattering and hardening again as she made her way into the bedroom. She wouldn't see him again. She would let him go lead a normal life, find a beautiful partner, have lovely children. She would let him grow up and age and die as she had been doing before. Loneliness was a price she was willing to pay.

She crumpled into a heap in her bedding, another collection of blankets and pillows. A few tears ran down her face and dripped down into the floor in tiny red dots. She allowed only a few of them before dashing them away and curling up. She would always have this blanket and their few shared nights.

That would be enough.


	4. Teeth

**Hello everyone! Just a quick note before we get started. Rating has changed to M for future circumstances, including gore, brutality and possibly things of a more sexual nature – we'll see. I'm intending on tying this into the next season when it comes out, so that should be fun! **

**I'm sure everyone has drawn their conclusions as to what Leona is exactly, but strap on in for the big reveal anyway – this should be fun. **

**Hope you enjoy as always, and let me know what you think!**

* * *

_If I was your vampire, certain as the moon._

_Instead of killing time, we'll have each other 'til the sun. _

_If I was your vampire, Death waits for no one._

_Hold my hands across your face,_

_Because I think our time has come._

**_If I was your Vampire – Marilyn Manson_**

She was avoiding him.

Stiles was smart enough to tell. The next night she hadn't turned up in the graveyard like she said she would – he wanted to take her to an old bookstore that he thought she'd like and then maybe go to a park or something.

But she hadn't been there, so he'd gone to her house and knocked. No one answered. He had knocked again. Nothing. He heard nothing from the house. _Maybe she was out_ he thought to himself as he left.

But something had happened last night. Something he didn't understand but it was something that was slowly starting to make sense the more he thought about it.

So he tried again the next night.

Nothing.

Little did he know, Leona watched him from the second story window, biting her lip and clenching her nails into her palms until they bit in and made her bleed. She hoped that he'd get the message and wouldn't be too hurt by her sudden silence. He kept coming for the rest of the month. At first it was every night but eventually it just dropped off into nothing around the start of what she thought was his new school year. He never knew that she was just right there, perched in her window, holding herself back from him.

A night in September, Leona woke up to the sound of knocking. The sun had just gone down, and there was someone at her door. She took in a deep breath, filtering past the dust and cobwebs and mold. It was him – she knew his cologne and sweat and blood.

Why now? Why did he suddenly come back to her door after a month of painful cold silence?

Slowly, she rose, dark hair tumbling around her body as she pulled on a simple long white dress and made her way downstairs. It was black as night inside but she had no trouble seeing. Stiles was still tapping away at the door. A few footsteps had her across the blackened living room, her hand on the doorknob before she stopped herself. As she backed away, a floorboard let out an ominous creak. The knocking stopped.

"Leona? I know you're in there. Look, I don't know what's wrong or anything and I really don't care."

She kept silent, pressing her back to the door and a hand to her mouth.

"I just wanted to be friends with you. I'm sorry if I did something to make you not want to be around me anymore."

'_It's not you.'_ She wanted to scream. She wanted to rip the door from its hinges and wrap her arms around him and weep and fuck and never let go of him. _'It's not you. I'm a monster, Stiles. I will get you killed. This isn't a world you know.'_

"Leona?" She heard him sigh and imagined him ruffling his hair.

"Fine. Just…fine." She heard his footsteps move away from the door before quite suddenly coming back. His knuckles rapped at the door, hard, twice.

"Just so you know, being able to come here and talk to some weird girl in a graveyard was helping. I was sleeping better. It helped. I didn't care who she was. It didn't…it doesn't matter to me."

He shoved something under the lip of the door – a crumpled, wilted poppy. Leona squeezed her eyes shut.

"That's the one you gave me. You can have it back."

She listened to his footsteps as they made their way back down the path, stomping hard. Eventually she couldn't hear them anymore. Leona wanted to fling that door open so badly, go running after him in the dark, following his scent and sound. She wanted to run to him, fall on her knees before him, beg him to accept her, plead for his forgiveness. Try and make him understand she was trying to protect him.

But she did none of these things. Instead, she plucked the poppy from the ground, grabbed an old cup, and went outside to the backyard. The well was nearly dried up after so many years of existence and use, but there was still a little water in the bottom. A few short tugs had an old worn wooden bucket tumble into her grasp, brimming over with old water. She filled the cup and dropped the poppy inside. It hung limply on the side of the makeshift vase, but she brought it inside and set it on the mantelpiece anyway. It still smelled fragrant, and a little bit like him.

Leona dropped down onto the pillows and blankets that she had formed into a nest on the living room floor.

"What am I supposed to do, Jean?" She asked, staring up at the portrait. Jean-Claude did not, mercifully, answer.

"I care for him. I barely know him but I care for him. You barely knew me and cared for me and look what I've become. Look at what you made me." Leona could not find it in her heart to hate the dead man anymore, but there was still bitterness in the edges of her voice.

"I can't do that to him. I must stay away." She dropped her face into her hands. "But I cannot. I want him. I want to know him. What should I do?"

Again, the cold face of her sire did not answer her. It was all in her hands now. There was not anyone to look after her anymore. The only ones in the world that could judge her choices would be herself, Stiles, and any members of her own kind that found out.

And there were so few in Beacon Hills…

But what if it went terribly wrong? If he couldn't keep a secret, if it made him wild, if he was afraid of her? It would be her duty to _correct the problem_.

And there was only so much she could do.

Couldn't there be a happy medium, she wondered. Where she would get to stay with Stiles for a little while, enjoy his company; help his healing without him knowing she was a denizen of another, much darker, world?

And why _shouldn't_ there be?

Leona stood to her feet and opened the door. She breathed in the night air. At first, all she could smell was forest sounds but there was a very slight faint scent of cologne on the breeze that she recognized as his. She followed it, racing through the trees, her dress whipping out behind her. The full moon was more than enough to light her way through the deep dark forest.

_Where _was Stiles going? This wasn't the way back to the graveyard. This led further into the woods that surrounded the graveyard and preserve. She knew it eventually hit a road, perhaps he'd parked there.

She leapt off a branch into a clearing, leaves rustling around her as she landed soundlessly on bare feet. His scent was strong here, and in the center of what seemed to be like a dirt parking lot was a large blue jeep. Leona could tell immediately that it was his – his scent was all over it – but the front door was flung open. She could smell blood.

"Stiles?" She darted over, quicker than a bat of the eye, and yanked the door all the way open. There was some blood on the seat, near where the headrest was. Not enough to be fatal, but probably enough to incapacitate a mortal.

Down near her left foot, something lit up. His phone. She plucked it from the ground and raised it to her face. Scott's name was blazing across in clear lettering as it vibrated in her hand. There was a moment's deliberation before she slid her finger across the plastic screen and raised it to her face.

"Hello?"

There was a moment of silence. "Who is this? Where's Stiles?"

"I don't know. I live around here and I saw a jeep. The front door was flung open and there's blood on the seat."

A longer, more pronounced moment. She could sense Scott's panic on the other line. "I don't think it's enough to kill. I think someone wrenched the door open and knocked him out."

She heard the faintest sigh of a breath before he spoke again. "I'm coming. Stay there."

The line went dead. Leona dropped the phone in the dirt and spun away, following the Stiles scent. It was getting fainter by the moment, scattered by the wind that was whipping through the trees. It would rain soon and she didn't have time to wait for Scott to show up, or for the police to come and try to find him. She had to find him and she had to do it now.

Leona kept to the woods as she sped down the road, following the invisible trail. She outstripped cars as she ran, faster and faster with every moment, calling upon her blood to strengthen her limbs. As she got closer, she could smell blood. His blood.

She came to stop outside of an old metal warehouse that looked as if it had been abandoned for some time. The smell was coming from in here – his sweat, his blood. She could smell fear, and hear the faintest crack of something hitting flesh and bone.

Rage, white hot and wild, surged through her body.

Someone had Stiles. Someone was _hurting _him.

She would rip their throats out.

The door to the warehouse was old corrugated metal. She grabbed it with both hands and with a mighty scream, ripped it from the hinges. It went spiraling into the woods with a loud crash. She could hear cursing and four pulses inside, one of them Stiles, the other his attackers.

She stepped inside, darting down a slim hallway to another door. She slammed it open and was greeted with the sight of a mostly empty concrete floored room. In the center in a chair was Stiles. There was man next to him with a gun pointed at his head, and two more with guns pointed squarely at her body.

"Okay, whoever the fuck you are bitch, that's enough." The man pushed his gun harder onto Stiles temple, but the boy didn't cry out or flinch. His nerves were made of steel and some small perverse part of her was proud.

Leona stepped into the room, her hands clenched.

"I believe you boys have something that belongs to me." Her voice was no longer her sweet dulcet tones but the chilling hiss of a predator. She took another step, and the man straighted, clicking the safety on his gun off.

"One more step, just one, and I'll blow his brains out."

Leona stopped, calculating. The other two men she could handle without issue, but she was not quite as fast as a bullet that close to the brain. She would have to try a different approach. She sized them up, flicking her eyes over the three. The two others were goons and clearly not in charge but the last man was different. He looked only slightly ruffled. He was in a dark suit, expensive she could tell, and his knuckles were bloody. Stiles face was bruised and shattered, and she was surprised he was still conscious. She'd never seen the man in the suit before, but she knew his type.

Leona lifted her hands, surrendering. Her smile became smooth as honey and she saw the three of them relax.

"Gentlemen, I've been hasty. Please, consider him a gift from me. " She placed her hands on her chest, then gestured to them.

"To you. If you wanted to use my property all you needed to do was ask. He's been naughty, has he? Doing something he shouldn't? Bad Stiles." She asked, pacing around the room. She was careful to come no closer than a step or two. As she predicted, the man in the suit was intrigued and confused enough to not pull the trigger. He furrowed his brow.

"Your _property_?"

She laughed, the sound flowing over her lips like molasses.

"Yes. My mortal. He belongs to me." The man still seemed confused and Leona rolled her eyes, laughing a little again.

"My _thrall_, you sweet thing." She came closer, more than halfway now to Stiles. The man raised his gun again and she smiled, lifting her hands.

"If you're questioning him, you really shouldn't destroy the poor thing's mouth so?"

Stiles' mouth was dripping blood. Some of his teeth were littering the floor. If she didn't get to him soon…

The man in the suit furrowed his brow and looked down at his hostage, then back to Leona. He seemed to be relaxing a little, beguiled by her strange approach and smile.

"I guess I got a little…carried away."

"Oh." Her sigh was like the winds on the moor. "That happens to the best of us, sometimes, doesn't it?" She was close enough to touch him now if she extended her arm. Leona flicked her eyes up to his, capturing them in her gaze, drawing his mind in like a fly trapped in amber. She had him.

"Now, then, lower your gun before you get carried away, won't you?" He nodded slowly, mechanically, and did as she bade her.

"Boss?" The other men still had their guns pointed at her. Leona smiled and reached up, gently stroking the suited man across the cheek. He shuddered in pleasure, his eyes glassy.

"Shoot them."

Two gunshots. She had no mercy in her for these men.

"Give me your gun."

He did, handing over the murder weapon readily. She tossed it away with a flick of her wrist and broke eye contact. The man gasped, sucking in air as his face contorted. He saw the other two bleeding out on the concrete from well placed kill shots, saw the little woman in front of him who had captured his mind.

Leona could smell his fear.

He stumbled away from her, crumpling to his feet. His face was glazed with horror.

"What the fuck are you?"

She smiled, cold as winter, and two dainty white fangs sprouted from her gums.

"Death."

Stiles could barely see, could barely talk, but he could hear. He heard screaming, a hissing, a ripping sound. He felt something spray across the back of his head and shoulders. He heard gurgling, a rhythmic thudding and a splintering noise. He heard licking and sucking for a few minutes, before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was fading in and out of consciousness, but he felt himself being lifted and whisked away on a soft breeze. Suddenly, he could hear crickets chirping and leaves rustling.

"Stiles? Stiles. Stay with me now." It was Leona's voice and he smiled, his lips cracking.

"Sor…ry."

She laughed a little wetly, cradling him in her arms. He looked so broken. His arms were bent wrong, his lips were broken and split. His eyes were swollen. They had beaten him to a bloody pulp, her Stiles. In her heart, he was his.

"Sorry for what, Stiles?"

He smiled as best he could, then coughed.

"I just…wanted…to go to…park. Bad…date."

She laughed again, brushing her hand over his face. His eyelids were fluttering and his breath was catching.

"Stiles. Stiles!" She shook him, but he was unresponsive. Leona felt a few tears snake down her cheeks.

"Dammit, Stiles!" She sunk her fangs into her wrist and pressed it to his mouth.

"Drink. Drink." He was unconscious for a moment, life slowly dripping into his mouth. The wounds on his face began to heal and he began to mechanically suck, flicking his tongue over the open wound on her wrist. She felt herself grow weaker over time as he quite literally sucked the life from her, but she would give him anything. She would give him all the blood in her body if it would save his life.

Eventually, the bones in his face snapped back into place. She watched his lips knit up and his teeth regrow. He would be sore for a few days, but alive and fully healed. Leona pulled her wrist away and he moaned in protest, his eyes flickering open. Stiles looked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, twisting his head around to get a look at their surroundings. Leona has taken him away to a clearing in the woods a mile or so away where they would not be disturbed.

"What happened?" He tried to sit up, but was too weak. He let Leona continue to cradle him in the dark.

"You nearly had the life beaten out of you, Stiles. I saved you."

His brow furrowed and he looked up at her, really looked. Her face was coated in blood. It dripped from her mouth, down her neck and covered the front of her gown. Her eyes were wild and stormy and there was something angular and frightening about her face. Slowly, he pieced his memories back together.

"You're… you." He swallowed hard and sat up, ignoring the dizziness that overtook him for a moment.

"I'm a monster, Stiles. I know. But if I didn't act you'd be dead right now, probably being buried or thrown in a lake. No one would ever see you again. I don't regret what I did."

He swallowed again. She could hear his heart racing.

"You killed them."  
"Technically I only killed one. I did it for you. I-" She reached for him desperately and he pulled away, his face a mask of shock and fear, the very expressions she had hoped he would never have. She pulled her hand back in to her chest and hung her head.

"The road is nearby. You can clean up in the pond. I'm sure you can find someone to take you home. But you can't tell anyone."

"I know."

They sat in silence, both of them loathe to speak. Leona could see his hands shaking ever so slightly from where they were on his bloodstained jeans but she couldn't see his face. She could feel him staring at her. Around them, crickets chirped and fireflies glimmered faintly in the gloom.

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I'm sorry you had to find out at all. I just…I just wanted to be your friend."

She lifted her head slowly and met his eyes. His expression was strange – a mixture of fear and inquisitiveness and…warmth. Why warmth? But it was there, right there, in his amber eyes.

"I'm sorry Stiles. I'm so sorry. You'll never have to see me again." She made to stand, but to her surprise his hand snaked out and clasped her wrist. Gently, wordlessly, he pulled her down in front of him. His expression was strange and lidded, like a hood being placed over a lantern.

"You…you don't need to apologize. I get it."

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Stiles ruffled his hair with the one that wasn't around his wrist.

"I just…I understand what it's like to…to have a monster inside you. I get it. I just didn't think that…" He shook his head, sighing.

"Didn't think what, Stiles?" Leona asked, scooting closer to him. Her hand, bloody and messy, cupped his cheek. His eyes flicked to her and threatened to swallow her whole. There was darkness in there, a pit she did not expect to see in someone so young. Stiles had been witness to great tragedy and pain, and she knew the look. He had caused it.

"I didn't think that someone else did and I guess…I tried not to think about what it was like on the outside. Watching it." He released her wrist but he didn't push her hand away, enjoying the chill of it in the warm air.

They didn't speak for a long time, sitting together, knees pressed against the others. They were not a prepossessing sight – both covered in blood, both messy and dirty. But that didn't matter.

He _understood._

As much as she didn't wish that he did, Stiles understood. He had seen the beast in her, for he had one in himself, and he did not turn away from her. She could have wept, but she was empty of tears and nearly empty of life. She had given most to him to heal his wounds.

"Stiles."

She broke the silence and his eyes returned to her face.

"Will you tell me, one day? Will you tell me why you understand?"

There was a long pause. He nodded. She smiled, and so did he, just a turning of the corners, just a tiny quirk of the lips but it was like sunshine to her. No.

No, it outshone the sun because it was coming from behind clouds.

"We should get you home, Stiles. It's going to be morning soon and your friends are out looking for you." Slowly, Leona rose to her feet, aiding him with a hand.

"How do you know?" He asked, wobbling a little and wincing.

"I just do. You'll be sore for a few days but you'll be completely healed. It…does that to you."

His eyes flicked to her as they began to make their way out to the road.

"Will it…it won't turn me into one of you, right?"

Leona shook her head. "No. Only if I drain you to the point of death first."

"Oh. Good."

They walked in silence, Leona mostly supporting Stiles until they made it to the asphalt. Down the long straight stretch of road, they could see headlights. Stiles waved wildly and the car sped up.

"I think that's Scott. Do you…?" He gestured at the car and Leona shook her head.

"No. He can't see me, Stiles. You have to keep it to yourself. You have to come up with something."

He nodded slowly, biting his lip. "I'll think of something." He ruffled his hair again as she stepped into the woods, out of the headlights.

"Wait. So you're a…"

Leona smiled as she pushed a branch aside. "You know, Stiles. You figured it out awhile ago. You're smart." She stepped further into the woods as the car squealed to a halt.

"Huh. So, vampires too, huh?"

Leona stopped and whipped around, but he had already gotten in the car. She watched it speed away, her body very still.

"Vampires, too?"

She smiled, and so did the boy in the backseat.

* * *

**Well that was my first experience writing a scene like this, along with really writing anything gore-like. Let me know what you think!**


	5. Impression

**I cannot thank you enough for the reviews and support that I've been given. I really, really appreciate it and you guys are awesome! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I wanted to make it a little softer, a nice quiet moment before we get into…other things! 8D**

**Enjoy!~**

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Stiles had been wondering when he would be able to see Leona again, but he hadn't expected her to show up at his doorstep. The woman –_vampiress, _he reminded himself - was standing on his doorstep with a large basket in her hands, filled to the brim with a variety of things. He blinked, leaning heavily against the doorframe. He was mostly healed from the incident the night before last but his body was still sore. Leona frowned at the shadow under his left eye, not to mention the various other bruises on his body. He looked like he was in dire need of rest.

"I hope I have not come at a bad time." Leona said, extending him the basket. Stiles shook his head and took it, looking down into the contents. It looked like a whole host of candies, some little action figures, a few other things.

"No, my dad's at work and no one's here right now. Dad's has made me stay in the house." He left the door open and started to walk away into the house, intending for her to follow him. Leona cleared her throat, stymied.

"Stiles. I can't…" She gestured at the doorway with a flick of her hand. He furrowed his brow for a moment, and then grinned.

"Huh. Cool. Come on in."

She smiled, looking a little embarrassed, and stepped through the threshold. His home was warm and cozy, resisting the light drizzle that fell from the sky outside. She heard the sound of music coming faintly from upstairs, something she didn't recognize. It was most likely modern. Leona couldn't hear or smell anyone else in the house but on him she could smell something like dirt and something faintly floral – a woman's scent. As Stiles led her upstairs, she did her best to keep her expression neutral. It hadn't occurred to her that Stiles might have a girlfriend. That made their relationship somewhat complicated, seeing as someone who didn't understand their purely friendly relationship might think something else was going on.

He pushed open a door at the top of the hall and stepped in, Leona on his heels. This was most certainly his bedroom. The walls were a soft blue and covered in posters. There were clothes strewn all about on the floor and his desk was covered in books and papers. This was where the music was coming from, playing softly out of his laptop that was propped up on the bed.

'_I'll swim in a sea of approval I think,__until when they bury me finally you can see maybe a time when a swimmer will sink.'__  
_Stiles dropped down heavily onto the bed, Leona tugging his computer chair over so that she was close.

"Thank you for letting me into your home, Stiles. I…am grateful." He nodded, perfectly at ease with the monster sitting across from him, and began to dig into a bag of Reese's Pieces. He offered some to her, but she shook her head.

"No, thank you. I can't."

He stopped his shoveling and looked at her inquisitively.

"You can't?"

"Well...I _can_. But it isn't pretty afterwards. We can hold things in our body for a little bit of time, but it does not digest and we eventually have to disgorge whatever food or drink we've consumed. No actual vomit but more a mix of blood and whatever we ate."

Stiles wrinkled his nose and stuffed some more candy in his maw. "Gross."

Leona smiled. "A little."

She watched him dig through the contents of the basket for a few minutes, smiling as he discovered the little Captain America action figure, which he fiddled with and put on the desk.

"I remembered seeing you with a comic at the graveyard once so I thought you'd like that."

Stiles' eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her. The cut on his lip split a little and bled. He pressed his thumb to it, sighing as a little bit dripped down his chin. Leona leaned forwards, cupping his face with a frown.

"You should have healed by now. Maybe you were injured far too much and I didn't have enough blood to give you." Her fangs extended and she started to lift her wrist to her mouth, but Stiles clapped his hand over it, shaking his head.

"No. It's not that…I don't appreciate it but I think everyone will start asking a lot of questions if I'm just suddenly all healed."

She nodded – it made sense. The fangs disappeared, shooting back up into her gum. Stiles steepled his fingers, looking at her for a long moment before he spoke.

"Can all vampires do that?"

Leona blinked, and then tipped her head with a nod. "Most of us."

"Most of you?" Stiles furrowed his brow and pressed his lips together, his attention entirely upon her.

"Some of us are more…monstrous that others. You've seen Nosferatu?" Stiles nodded, bobbing his head quickly.

"Some of us look like that. Some are much worse."

"But you don't."

Leona shook her head, her dark curls tumbling over a shoulder.

"No. I am not that kind of vampire. There are variations in the blood that give us different abilities or appearances depending on who our sire was."

Stiles let out a low humming noise, his eyes narrowed and the wheels in his head turning quickly.

"Can you turn into a bat?" He asked, bobbing his head up. Leona smiled and shook her head.

"No."

"Huh. I'm guessing you can't go out in the day."

"No. Sunlight and fire will kill us. Stakes to the heart do not; we are only put in stasis for the duration of the penetration."

Stiles let out a goofy snort and Leona rolled her eyes, lightly pushing him in the shoulder.

"Very mature, Stiles."

He dipped his head and grinned. "Do you sleep in a coffin?"

"No, but I'm sure others of the Blood do. I sleep in a nest of pillows and blankets in my home."

"Do you hate garlic?"

Leona let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "No. No mortal food has any effect on me, but I understand the myth. Garlic is seen as an object of protection against evil in witchcraft and when enspelled, it can act as protection to most anything, not specifically my kind. Religious symbols are the same. I can enter a church as easily as the next person."

Stiles was bouncing his knee now, leaned forwards. His eyes were locked on her and he seemed to be absorbing all the information with the delight of a young child reading a new book.

"What about mirrors and pictures and stuff?"

Leona shook her head again. "You can't see us in them. We can, for a time and with the use of our blood, force ourselves to be visible but it fades. Any picture you take, we will disappear over time."

Stiles furrowed his brow. "That's odd."

"I never quite understood it either. Something about us not having reflections in this world because we have technically passed on to the other while still hanging in between."

They sat in comfortable silence as Stiles started chewing on some sour gummi worms, trying to avoid some of the missing molars in the back of his mouth.

"How did you figure out where I live? The graveyard isn't anywhere near here. Then again you've lived here for like, ever so that was probably a stupid question." He said, ruffling his hair. Leona dipped her head and smiled, nibbling on her lower lip. As she considered the answer to the question, her smiled faded, replaced by the wringing of her hands in her skirt.

"I can…find you now, Stiles. We are bonded because I consumed your blood. It makes me able to track you. I apologize if it seems invasive but considering the situation we were in…"

He shook his head, cutting her off mid sentence. "Don't worry about it. I get it. You were just trying to save my life. Thank you."

Touched, she reached out and clasped his hand, twining their fingers together, her soft pale cold ones and his warm ones. After a few moments, he pulled away.

"So it's kinda like True Blood?"

Leona furrowed her brow, her eyes narrowing. "Like…what?"

* * *

The sex scenes alone were enough to make Leona blush, if she could. The portrayal of vampires, however, had her laughing. Stiles shook his head as the end credits rolled.

"What's so funny? Is it really that inaccurate?"

Leona stifled her giggles with a hand and tucked her legs up under her on the couch. They'd moved down to the living room to watch the spectacle that was modern television. Leona had no ideas what half of the buttons did but she trusted Stiles' judgment.

"No, Stiles. It's far _too_ accurate, at least in the portrayal of how vampires ask. There are some like Mr. Compton who try to live a quieter life where they don't hurt anyone –"

"Like you."

Stiles tipped his head at her and Leona smiled, smoothing out the panels of her skirt and looking at him from under her lashes.

"Yes. Like me. And then there are vampires who are like those three…nest mates-" She wrinkled up her nose at the idea. "Who only exist to inflict pain and misery. But I suppose that's true of humans too."

Leona gave a careless shrug of her shoulders.

"So Leona."

"Yes Mr. Stilinski?"

He gave her a slight quirk of his lips. "You can't turn into a bat, you can't fly, you can't turn invisible. What can…your kind do?"

Leona smiled, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. "I can…entrance people. I can make them do what I want. I can get into their heads, possess them if I want."

"Have you ever done that to me?" He asked, his voice going soft and vulnerable. Leona's eyes widened and she clasped his hand, holding it to her unbeating heart. She caught his eyes, holding his gaze in a cage of stormy blue.

"Stiles. I swear to you right now that I have never nor will I ever compel you. I value your friendship far too much to…to violate your mind that way."

Something strange passed his face – something like relief, she thought. He twined his fingers with hers, warm with cold, man with woman. His other hand lifted to clasp the outside of the hand that was holding his. Leona felt herself shiver with the intensity of his dark eyes boring into hers.

"Thank you. That…means a lot to me. You have no idea."

"Of course. You trust me?"

"I trust you." A smile spread across Stiles' mouth, so like the one she had seen before, when he was vibrant and _alive_. Leona couldn't help but smile back, her mouth splitting into a grin. To her chagrin, her fangs descended from her gums with a short spike of pain, causing her to clap her hand to her mouth and leap back from him. Stiles looked startled for a moment, yanking back on the couch, but when he saw the embarrassed look on her face he started to laugh. It was a good deep laugh, starting in his gut and bubbling out of his throat.

"It's not funny, Stiles!" She said from behind her hand, sure that she would have gone red if she could have.

"It's _kinda_ funny."

"No it's not! It's…mortifying. They don't usually do that." They only did that, usually, when she was hungry or angry. She had never had it just…happen before. She usually had such good control on her instincts but something about Stiles had her calm and relaxed. She didn't feel afraid to show her nature in front of him. It was…freeing.

Still chuckling, Stiles stood up and walked over, gently tugging her hand away from her mouth. Her fangs glinted in the lamplight.

"Hey, they're not embarrassing. They're a part of you and you're my friend, so I like them. "He shrugged, as if it didn't mean anything, but part of Leona's heart melted. He was being so kind and accepting to her, so not what she expected from anyone, human or otherwise.

"You're taking this very well. Shouldn't you be more afraid of the fanged monster in your house, Mr. Stilinski?" She asked, adopting her worst Bill Compton accent – a slow fake southern drawl that would have any native of Louisiana cringing. Stiles blinked at her once, twice, and then burst into laughter, doubling over and clutching the couch for support. Leona couldn't help but laugh along with him, the both of them helpless and stumbling down onto the couch cushions.

"That was awful. That was just terrible." Stiles slowly came down from his laughing fit, wiping the tears away from his face. Leona giggled and nodded.

"Yes, I do not think I'll be doing that again."

Stiles let out a snort and grabbed the remote.

"Wanna watch another one?" He asked, grinned at her, his hair all perfect and tousled, his brown eyes so soft and perfect. Leona almost got lost as she nodded, settling in for a rare stolen quiet moment with her friend. She knew, in the back of her mind, that one day this would end and it would hurt and he would grow old and die, but for now, she was just happy to sit on the couch with Stiles Stilinski and watch awful television. There was a storm raging outside – the light drizzle of rain had progressed into a full blown thunderstorm crashing away – but here inside it was quiet.

And he was warm.

And she was safe.


	6. Sister

**Welcome back to another chapter! Sorry it's been awhile, I've been super busy! I am beginning to play off of things in Season 4, and they will hopefully mix in well with the plot I have going in my head. Hope you enjoy~**

**Link to my writing tumblr and my polyvore are in my profile, check them out!**

* * *

"You said that you would not get into any trouble." Leona was standing there in Stiles' bedroom with her arms crossed, bearing down on the tired looking teenager sitting on his bed. He gave her a wan, sleepy smile, happy to see her despite the fact that Leona looked so angry she could spit.

"I know I did. I sorta- I lied. It's not like I intended to get into trouble, it just sorta happens!"

She tossed her arms up in the air in frustration and dropped delicately down beside him, crossing one knee over the other to preserve her modesty in the blue lacy dress she was wearing. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder, and some of the worry started to seep out from the corners of her eyes, the shape of her lips. Her anger quickly dissipated – she found it impossible to stay frustrated with her friend for long.

"I was worried about you. I could feel your fear but you were so far away I wouldn't have been able to get to you."

Stiles sighed and rubbed his forehead with a hand before squeezing Leona's little cold pale hand with his own before removing his sneakers.

"I know. Trouble's just…kinda what happens to me."

She smiled and little and shook her head, kicking her feet back and forth. When Stiles has said he and his friends were going to Mexico for a few days to find another one of their friends, Leona hadn't expected him to come back and tell her all about their misadventures in the desert – getting snatched up by hunters, attacked by monsters, their friend getting de-aged. Not to mention, an old enemy had somehow come back to life and was wreaking havoc in the form of a werepanther. She chuckled a little.

"I was not sure I believed you until now."

Stiles grinned at her and tossed his shoes across the room, the two of them landing with loud thuds.

"I would have been happy to go with you, you know. I could have protected you." Her brow furrowed as she tucked away the last of his shirts into a drawer. When she had been woken up in the day, feeling his fear, Leona had never been so frightened for someone else before. Even if he'd been nearby there was no way for her to get to him – the sun was her enemy and would have burnt her to a crisp in minutes. She'd waited, her hands clenched tight around the blankets, as she waited for it to subside. It did, slowly, and then had come back in dark trickles later that evening. She had been tempted to just run as fast as she could to Mexico, but would have been caught out in the day before she could reach him.

Part of what frightened her about that was that she was willing. Almost 300 years of life, and she was willing to sacrifice it in an instant. It gave her a strange thrill.

The mattress squeaked as Stiles dropped down onto it, bringing Leona from her muddled thoughts.

"The jeep isn't really light tight and I…haven't quite figured out how to explain my vampire friend to everyone." He sighed a little bit, steepling his fingers in thought. Leona pulled up a chair and sat across from him, watching him think. She could see the wheels in his head turning, stopping, stalling, and then turning again.

"I cannot be your _'vampire friend'_ Stiles. I can only be your _friend_."

Stiles gave her a long look with his dark eyes, his brow wrinkled. His lips were moving back and forth like he wanted to say something. Leona's eyes narrowed at him.

"You aren't telling me something. Your heart just picked up pace."

Stiles let out a huff and flapped his hands in the air once out of frustration. There was a long moment of silence before he sighed and nodded, almost to himself.  
"Alright, you're right. So…" He rubbed his hands together. "None of my friends are human."

Leona blinked – that certainly was not what she had been expecting.

"None of my close friends anyway. Scott, he's an alpha werewolf, his not-girlfriend Kira is a Kitsune, Lydia's a Banshee, and Malia's a werecoyote. I didn't want to tell you but since you're not a human, I figured…" He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. Leona felt her head swimming. Everything she had ever heard of were creatures painted them as violent, nasty, barbaric creatures. They would tear you apart in a second without a second thought. But Scott was a teenager. He was going to highschool. Unless Stiles was lying – which he was not – what everyone said about them was wrong. Then again, one of the strongest facets of the vampiric community was their rampant xenophobia, an interesting trait for creatures that lived forever and could experience anything and everything.

"Say something. You're freaking me out." Stiles said with a slight grin, which wrangled a tiny smile from her lips.

"Then I suppose I could just introduce myself. There is no secrecy amongst supernatural creatures, at least not about their existence. I would like to meet them." The idea made her nervous, truthfully, but they were Stiles' friends. And she cared about Stiles, and if he cared about someone, she wanted to know who they were so she could look out for them as well. Part of her desire to never see him in pain extended to his loved ones. And, she thought in the back of her head, maybe if she was lucky she'd be able to make a few more friends. It was a quiet little hope she harbored, even though she didn't think it would happen. People who were so open minded and kind like Stiles were rare – and what's to say that upon learning of her existence his friends wouldn't vehemently refuse to have anything to do with her? There was only one way to find out.

Stiles smiled at her, nervous but sort of pleased. "Alright, so...how? I mean, I guess I could just call everyone over and say 'Hey, here's this vampire chick I know, be nice.'"

Leona giggled, covering her mouth with a hand. "I suppose you certainly could. Though, since they're going to know about me now, I could help you with those missing teeth. I imagine eating without them is difficult." Leona extended a finger and lifted it to her lips. Her dainty white fangs descended and she pricked just the tip of her pointed finger. A little bit of blood welled up, a thicker darker substance than what ran through human veins. Stiles scooted a little closer to her and nodded.

"Yeah. Dad's been talking about getting fake ones. Cause that won't make me feel old or anything." Stiles shuddered a little bit and Leona smiled.

"You could never be old, Stiles. Old in body, certainly, but you've a young heart. Open up."

He rolled his eyes at her. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Leona marveled at the easy trust he had in her, opening up his mouth to allow her to slip her finger inside to find the gaps in his teeth. She was gentle on his gums, which were probably still sore. Her finger glided over his teeth, flicked over his tongue. The inside of his mouth was wet and warm. She searched and found a gap in the back of his mouth. Stiles winced a little as her finger gently grazed the area, but the pain in his face slowly went away as the molar began to reconstruct itself fully. Leona searched for the other one she knew was missing, trying to be as ginger as possible.

"Ith o'er here."

"What?" She furrowed her brow at him and Stiles rolled his eyes. He took hold of her hand and guided her finger to the other side of his mouth where she felt another gap. The blood on her finger tip welled and was absorbed mostly by the wound. Stiles swallowed around her finger reflexively, blood and spit coursing down his throat. It tasted sweet, like what spring rain smelled like, and something darker like smoke. He was reminded of thickly hot summer days and that bottle of scotch he'd stolen once from his dad, but it was much more intoxicating than alcohol or drugs or even sex. He could barely remember the last time he'd had her blood, because he'd been unconscious for most of it and all of it had gone to healing his wounds, but this was different in a way he didn't know how to describe. It tasted like life.

Leona didn't want to take her finger out of his mouth. The inside was hot and wet and he was holding her hand. His thumb was making little circles on the fine bones of her wrist and he was _sucking_, sucking at the tip of her finger ever so lightly. His teeth grazed her skin and she shivered just a little bit. His eyes were dark and smoky, two thick amber pools pulling her in. She almost felt like he was the one with her power over the mind, such power he had over her to forget her better judgment and allow a human to drink her powerful blood longer than he needed to.

A door opened and closed downstairs and they both jumped, the strangely sensual moment shattered by the sudden sound. It was likely his father. Leona yanked her finger from its spot in his gums and stood, feeling confused and dirty and desirous and _alive._

"I should go. Unless you want to explain to your father why you have a girl who isn't your girlfriend in your room."

Stiles nodded from his seat on the bed, feeling a little dizzy and confused. "You're…you're probably right. I'll come see you tomorrow?"

Leona nodded, bending down to hug him lightly before making her way to the open window.

"I'll see you tomorrow night, Stiles." Gently, she leapt out, landing with a soft thud on the lawn, her skirt fluttering around her knees. Stiles leaned out the window with a _goodnight_ in the late summer air before he closed the glass pane.

She felt dazed as she walked home. She hadn't felt desire for someone that way in a long time – not just desiring someone in a physical way. She liked Stiles. She had time to reflect upon her feelings for him while he had been away in Mexico and though her feelings were strong, they weren't love like she had previously assumed. Infatuation was a closer word, but either way she wanted to be near him all the time, always wanted to make him smile and laugh and keep him safe. She was lonely, and she felt like some part of him was too. She wanted and needed him as a friend, and he needed someone who understood parts of what he had gone through, and what he was going through still. He hadn't told her yet about what exactly had happened to him, and she wasn't going to pry. That would be on his own time and at his own pace.

Even in her own muddled feelings, Leona knew at the very least that Stiles had become a person of high importance to her, perhaps of _the_ highest importance. She had so few people she connected with in any meaningful way.

And despite the fact the she knew she wanted him, she was just happy to be his friend. That was more than enough for the lonely monster inside her.

Confusion solved, Leona quickly made the rest of her way through the graveyard and up the path to her home, her boots sinking a little into the wet muddy earth. Something caught her eye – footprints. Someone had come this way recently. She opened her senses and breathed in deeply, and caught the scent of something she hadn't smelled in a long time.

Chanel N° **5, **flowers, and blood**.**

A burst of speed propelled her up the path, the world blurring around her for a moment before she came to rest on her front porch. The door was carelessly left open, and the perfume scent continued into the house. Leona stepped in. Her living room was littered with things – bags from expensive department stores, empty blood bags, and more shoes than she could count. She waded through the fashionable muck and darted upstairs and down the hall to her bedroom. She heard music playing, something hopping and modern that she didn't recognize.

She pushed the door open and strode in. Her mess of pillows and blankets had been replaced by an iron framed bed with a circular canopy. There was a large Persian rug on the floor and on the far wall was a vanity of gold and glass where a blonde-haired woman was perched, brushing blush over her cheeks.

"Katherine. Nice of you to just make yourself at him."

Katherine Lancashire, Leona's consanguineous sister whom she hadn't seen since the 1930's, spun around with a wide smile.

"Leona! I was wondering when you'd get home. I hope you don't mind that I settled in. This poor place needs so much work; I don't understand why you live in such abject squalor." Katherine said, twirling some of her perfectly stylized blonde curls around her finger. Leona peered at her sister.

"Katherine, what are you doing here? I haven't seen you since 1932, and we didn't part on amiable terms."

Katherine smiled in that condescending sort of way she had and stood, coming over to her sister.

"Leona, don't be rude. Just because we had a little spat doesn't mean we can't make up.  
She went to wrap her arms around the little dark haired woman but Leona batted her hand away, frowning.

"Your ability to hold a grudge is legendary, especially among our kind, Katherine. What do you want?"

Katherine let out a long sigh and rolled her eyes before flinging herself onto the bed with a flump.

"I just wanted to see my little sister, alright?" There was a pregnant pause where Leona raised her eyebrow and Katherine fidgeted uncomfortably. "And I may or may not have gotten myself into a little bit of trouble."

Leona pinched the bridge of her nose. "So you decided to show up and dump all this on my doorstep? I knew you were irresponsible but this is ridiculous. We parted ways in the 1930's. You said you never wanted to see me again. I'm not the one that broke our bond, Katherine." Leona turned on her heel and stomped down the stairs, quickly gathering up the mess her sister had left. The vampiress followed her close behind.

"Leona, just hear me out, okay? Someone broke in and stole some of my research-"

"Things you stole originally, I'm sure-"

"So I stole it back. And I managed to…upset some people along the way. Look, they don't know I'm here, alright? You're not in any danger."

Leona paused in the process of picking up a gold metallic Jimmy Choo heel as a sneaking suspicion began to take root in her mind.

"Katherine, you've obviously gotten sloppy because some of your damn baggage came after my friend a week ago." The blonde blinked, looking confused and vaguely insulted. She opened her mouth to respond but Leona overrid her, shoving a bag of shoes into her arms,

"They nearly beat him to death, Katherine, all because you can't be careful! They couldn't come after me because of what I am so they came after him! If your fucking stupidity puts Stiles in danger again, I swear to god I'll-"

"Wait…Stiles? Like, Stilinski? Like the sheriff's son!?" Leona clapped her mouth closed and began to clean up again, cussing in her head. Katherine looked shocked.

"Don't tell me you've gone and told a human. If you think I'm in trouble just wait until the Convocation finds out you're spilling secrets to mortals." Katherine dropped down onto the worn old sofa and pulled a bejeweled cigarette case from her pocket, watching her sister closely as she lit up. The fact that Leona wasn't saying anything at all was speaking volumes.

"So you've gone and done it again. After what happened in the 30's I would have thought you would have learned your lesson about falling in love with humans. They live for like, no time at all, and they're so fragile. It's like having romantic feelings for a goldfish – it's just gonna die in a few short years." She sucked in and blew a stream of white smoke at her dark-haired sister. Leona tossed a Victoria's Secret bag aside and dropped down onto the sofa, the fight and rage having left her in a rush, replaced by worry and tinges of fear.

"It's not like that. He's my friend. And he already knew about supernatural things anyway. You won't tell, will you?" She grasped Katherine's hand in both of her own, her eyes begging for secrecy. Her sister eyed her for a moment, and then smiled.

"Sure. I won't say a word _if_ you help me get my things back and let me stay here for a little while."

Leona frowned at her, her lips turning into a hard line. Katherine just smiled and stuck a cigarette into Leona's mouth, lighting it up for her.

"You should be grateful. After all the times trying to be friends with humans has gone awry with you, I should be killing him myself. Quick and clean and painless is the way I'd do it. You know they wouldn't. But, in the effort of keeping the goodwill…"Katherine slowly rose to her feet and plucked a bag off the floor, tossing it to Leona. "I'll keep your little secret."

Leona opened the bag and pulled out a small jewelry box. She ran her fingers over the soft blue velvet before she cracked it open and her heart would have stopped if it still beat. Inside, was a ring deep golden stone in a silver setting. Leona lifted it up and let the firelight play off its many facets. Deep inside, Leona could see an etching of some sort of symbol she didn't recognize.

"Katherine, it's beautiful. But what is it?" She asked, slipping the band on her right ring finger. Her sister dropped to the couch, kicking off her heels and digging into other shoe boxes to try things on as she spoke.

"That, my sweetest little sister, is our ticket to a tan."

Leona blinked, her mind uncomprehending. She watched Katherine pull on a pair of bright pink heels, watched her tug the strap around her ankle.

"What…are you talking about? A _tan_?" She couldn't keep the confusion from her voice. Katherine rolled her eyes and lifted her left hand – an identical ring was perched upon it.

"Yes, Lee. A tan. You know, the sun? I haven't worked out all the details yet but, once I decipher the information I stole-"

"Wait, you said it was stolen _from you_-"

"You can go join your sweet little human boy in the sun."

The sun.

Leona laughed, tossing her head back and leaning against the couch for support. "You've got to be kidding me, Kath. Vampires have been searching for that for centuries, you can't really expect me to belie-"

"It works."

The strong certainty in her sister's usually flippant voice stopped Leona in her tracks. Katherine's face was deadly serious, every sharp line drawn tight.

"I've seen it work. I don't know how they do it, because everything is in code, but I've already figured out some of the components. This can be done, Leona. And after everything we've been through together, you are the only person that I want to share this with."

The following stretch of silence was deafening. Leona wanted to believe Katherine. She wanted to think that maybe, just maybe, it was possible. She couldn't even remember the sun, she was only aware of her wanting for it again, made all the more potent by the idea that she could walk with her only human friend, side by side in the rays. She wanted to lay in a field with him and let the sun kiss her skin. She wanted to be reminded of all the things she'd forgotten in her many years of night, and she wanted to do it at Stiles' side.

She wanted to believe Katherine. She did. But it wasn't possible. This was their curse. Endless night was something Leona had learned to live with and she was afraid that if she hoped, she would get dashed against the rocks. She wasn't sure if she could handle the disappointment and loss.

Katherine, sensing her sister's skepticism, clasped Leona's hands.  
"Lee. I'll take care of everything, okay? I'll figure it out. Maybe we can get a yacht!" Katherine gave her sister a smile but Leona only shook her head.

"I'll believe it when I see it, Kat. Now, it's going to be dawn soon, and I have things to think about."

Without a word, the black haired vampiress darted up the stairs and snapped her bedroom door shut behind her. She collapsed into the canopy bed, staring up at the filmy fabric. She could hear the faint pitter patter of rain outside, but no moonlight poured into the dark room. _This_ was what she had been sentenced to – black night, lonely rain. She had been forced to trade the sun for the moon and stars.

Leona couldn't remember it bothering her as much as it did right now. At first, she mourned. But as time went on, Leona forgot what it was like. Sure, you could see sunny days in pictures and movies, but they had none of the heat, none of the warmth, none of the pure life. Eventually, she forgot the sun and stopped mourning all together.

But as she turned over on her side to sleep, she felt the acute desire to see what color the golden rays would turn Stiles' eyes.


End file.
